


just some oak and some pine and a handful of Revenants

by mlraven



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, IKEA, M/M, Multi, literal curtain fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-18 17:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/pseuds/mlraven
Summary: Doc and Dolls have been unofficially bunking at the Earp homestead for three months when Waverly finally breaks down and tells them to get their shit together.Our favorite threesome goes on a road trip to Ikea. (Unfortunately, no Revenants come along to spice things up.)





	just some oak and some pine and a handful of Revenants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rivulet027](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivulet027/gifts).



> Happy Not Prime Time, Rivulet027! I hope you enjoy this; you asked for curtain fic, and here it is!
> 
> Thanks to donutsweeper for the beta!
> 
> Title cribbed from Jonathan Coulton's _IKEA_.

Doc and Dolls have been unofficially bunking with Wynonna at the Earp homestead for three months when Waverly finally breaks down and tells them to get their shit together.

She gives them a talking-to that ends with Wynonna, Doc, and Dolls piling into Wynonna’s truck and driving to the nearest Ikea, several hours away. They spend the impromptu road trip playing car games, arguing over whose turn it is to drive, and disparaging each others’ music choices. Doc has surprisingly strong opinions about the last hundred years of music, considering that he spent the majority of the time in a well.

By the time they arrive, they’re all a bit punch drunk from the enforced downtime coupled with the close quarters in the truck’s cab. They park on the bottom floor of a multi-level garage and tumble out of the truck.

Dolls scans for the entrance while Wynonna and Doc squabble over who will push the cart. When he sees the red sign, glowing faintly against its concrete backdrop, he starts off for the door. He doesn’t bother to check if they’re following him; they’ll catch up eventually.

He stops at the stand of catalogues, maps, stubby pencils, and paper measuring tapes; lamenting the fact that Waverly had kicked them out before he could gather a suitable mission kit. He remembers, from the brief period where he tried living in a shared apartment with normal roommates, that Ikea trips are best braved on a full stomach, with a militantly-organized and preprepared list of desired goods.

They have none of these things, but he still thinks they can get through it with minimal bloodshed. Unless they run into a revenant, then all bets are off.

He hears them before he sees them; the bickering floats up over the escalator, followed by the tops of their heads. Wynonna is standing a step above Doc, giving her a slight height advantage, and she seems to be listing the reasons why they should fill the truck with Swedish Meatballs instead of furniture.

“...plus they’re _frozen_ , so they last forever! And who can argue with meat? Tasty, tasty murder.”

Doc makes eye contact with Dolls over Wynonna’s shoulder, raising a brow.

“Let’s table the meatball discussion,” Dolls says with a wry smile. “Furniture first.”

Doc makes a beeline for the stand of supplies, immediately picking up a map and examining it to determine the optimal route through the store. He squints.

“Is it really this serpentine?” he asks, jabbing a finger at the paper. “Look— no clear exits! What happens if there’s an attack?”

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “In the event of a zombie apocalypse, they’re not coming straight for Ikea. They’re not big fans of Scandinavian design,” she scoffs. “They eat brains, not laminate flat-pack.”

Dolls clears his throat. “Can we focus on the objective?” he tries. This is worse than herding kittens. At least kittens don’t carry knives.

Wynonna scoops up a handful of golf pencils and drapes several paper tape measures around her neck like a scarf.

When Dolls asks if they really need fifteen pencils between the three of them, she smirks. “Sharp wood is a great vampire-deterrent,” she says.

Dolls doesn’t even want to know.

  
  
  


Doc insists on going through the showroom, reminding them that they still need to construct a shopping list. Dolls knows the showroom is a giant trap— by the time you get to the Marketplace, you’ve found at least ten _essential_ _things_ you never knew you couldn’t live without. He does reluctantly agree that they need to test certain pieces for sturdiness, though.

“How else’re we going to tell if the bed’ll collapse underneath us?” Doc asks, smirking.

Wynonna rolls her eyes and fiddles with her pocket knife, but she follows with a minimum of snark. Dolls watches her poke around the set-like rooms, something akin to wistfulness in her eyes as she hesitantly caresses a deep blue velvet armchair that would likely get bled on before it even made it to the homestead.

They pick out bookcases for the piles of archival material Waverly’s constantly digging up, a giant dresser for the bedroom, and a set of matching bedside tables with bulbous feet.

They even make it through the bed section with minimal struggle— they choose a King size mattress and the sturdiest frame Ikea sells, tested by Wynonna bouncing up and down on each mattress/frame combo until she’s satisfied it’ll hold up to their use. She makes Dolls and Doc lie flat on their backs while she jumps, and Doc flinches each time her flailing limbs come anywhere near his groin.

Eventually, they’re all satisfied with Wynonna’s choice (though it’s _possible_ that they agreed with her choice just to get her to stop jumping on the beds and scaring the salesclerks).

They move on to the Marketplace to pick up small goods, including bedding, lamps, and kitchen supplies.

Doc spends ages in the kitchen section, piling their carts with nonstick pans, measuring cups, and mixing bowls. Apparently Waverly introduced him to food blogs, and now he has the idea that he’s going to spend his copious spare time becoming a gourmet chef.

_(“Not a gourmet chef, Wynonna, I just don’t want y’all to subsist on those crunchy noodles and Pop-Tarts!”_

_“But Pop-Tarts are so good!”)_

Doc chooses enough dishware, serving-ware, and silverware to feed an army of Purgatorians.

 _At least he chose nice complimentary colors and patterns,_ Dolls thinks. He’s somewhat surprised to find that he cares this much, but there’s something about the fact that the Earp homestead is the first place he’s been comfortable enough to call _home_ that makes each decision of rattan vs. upholstery seem life-or-death.

By the time they get to the soft goods section, all three of them are exhausted, hungry, and very ready to be far away from Ikea. Still, the process of choosing bed linens almost devolves into a screaming match. Dolls has strong opinions about striped curtains (dizzying), Wynonna refuses to entertain anything floral, and Doc is upset by almost all of the textures (synthetic! grating! how do they sell _anything_ that feels like this?!).

They end up with a blue linen duvet cover that Dolls assures Doc will soften in the wash, darker blue sheets (ditto), and deep teal blackout curtains _(“Like we need any help staying in bed!”)._

They finally reach the end of the Marketplace, each with a cart full of the bits and bobs they apparently thought were _absolutely impossible_ to leave without. They eye the endless aisles of flatpack between them and the checkout. Wynonna groans, collapsing onto the floor and burying her head in her hands.

Dolls pulls out the list of items and warehouse locations and hands it to Doc. “You two go find these and meet me at checkout; I need to grab something.”

Doc raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly between the three carts and the single Dolls.

Dolls shakes his head once, leaning in and saying in an undertone, “I’m getting something for her. I saw she wanted it but didn’t think it was practical, so it’ll be a surprise.” His low mutter is almost swallowed by the hum of the warehouse.

Doc smiles, mustache twitching. He tilts his hat at Dolls and bends down to talk to Wynonna. “C’mon, sugar, just gotta get through this and then we’ll be home,” he says soothingly, running a hand down her arm.

She gets up with another melodramatic groan, and they take a flat cart off into the aisles.

  
  
  


When they regroup at checkout, there are five carts between the three of them. Dolls has already stowed his gift in the truck, so he’s only guarding the three carts of small goods.

The long-suffering cashier scans cartful after cartful, prices ticking up as Doc’s eyes grow wider. He knew that modern money’s on a different scale, but this is outrageous!

Dolls chuckles at Doc’s face and swipes his card, unfazed. Even Ikea prices add up.

Wynonna looks like she’s seriously considering lying down on some of the flatpack, so Dolls suggests she go lie in the truck while they load up. He’s pretty sure she’s exhausted enough not to argue.

Before they start loading, Doc peeks under the tarp covering the oddly-shaped lump in the truck bed. When he sees the velvet armchair, he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. He can see why Wynonna didn’t mention it, but he’s glad Dolls bought it for her. Wynonna could use something self-indulgent, though she’d never buy it for herself.

The truck fits all of their purchases— barely. They get in the cab and find Wynonna asleep, sprawled across the back seats. Doc smiles and turns on some quiet music. They’ll wake her when they stop for food.

  
  
  


They get back to the homestead long after dark.

Waverly and Nicole help them haul everything inside, where it takes up almost the entire living room. Waverly surveys the mounds of boxes, lumpy bundles of newsprint presumably containing breakable objects, and bags upon bags full of stuff, hands on her hips. She looks pleased.

Wynonna searches for the bed amidst all the piles, until the other shoe drops.

 _“Oh fuck,”_ she says, tone somewhere between bemused and hysterical. “We still have to _build_ everything!”

 

 

 


End file.
